Nico was looking out the window of an old late 80's Dodge Raider as it rolled down a rural town street, past country stores and a little folksy gas station, up to the stop light. The left turn signal clicked almost in tune with whatever country star's B-side was playing through the blown out speakers and he found himself nodding his head along, breaking the character of a pouty teenager he was trying his best to play as his grandpa turned the Raider left off the main street. They were heading out into the country for the summer, as they did every year. There was no summer vacation in store for this young man, it was all hard work and life lessons.
"Y'know, now that yer 18, work's gonna be tougher this year. Y' ready for it?" Tros, Nico's grandpa, would ask the boy as he stared out the window at passing telephone poles and wheatfields. The older fox was pushing 50 now, and much of the hair on his head had receded to show the short dusty red fur underneath. That's why he wore a cap damn near everywhere he went, even here in the car with his grandson. A black cap that told everyone he was a veteran, and damn proud of it. He had a cigarette hanging from his mouth that was smoking up the interior of the Raider, even with the window down, and his glasses had smudges on them where he needed to clean them. He was the portrait of a working class grandpa, right down a tucked in tee-shirt and blue jeans in the summer.
He'd had his son, Ganymede, in his late 20's, and Ganymede had had Nico around 18. The last thing they wanted was the kid to make the same mistake as his dad and knock some girl up young, so summers were spent where he could keep his mind off those sorts of things--around a bunch of other men on the farm. It kept Nico out of his dad's hair, too, which was convenient for Ganymede as he was in his mid 30's but still partying like he'd just turned 21. He had the summer to do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted, and he preferred it that way to having to keep and eye on some restless young buck itching to experience life for himself.
"I guess. S'been hard enough before now, though." Nico would reply as he looked to his grandpa. Summers really weren't awful, but the fox just wasn't built for labor. A lot of the summer was spent pulling his weight and others coming behind him to help pull him along the rest of the way. He had fun, though, and sometimes they'd let him have beers with them when the work was done for the day. The farm's owner was a hardass and his help could be bossy, but Nico tended to end up having a good time. Every year he'd gone, though, they'd had a bit more expectation of him. He guessed this year would be the first year they'd expect "real" hard work from him since he was legally an adult, and that had him a little nervous. 
"You'll be fine. Jus' put your ass into it and don't go pussyfootin' off like y' love to do. I can legally whip your ass if I catch you hidin' in the barn loft nappin' or whackin' off in the bathroom again."
"Your fault for walkin' in on me when I said I was takin' a shit." Nico would reply.
"Yeah, well, ain't no shit I ever heard ever sound like beatin' the water out a wet rug."
Nico couldn't help but snort a slight laugh as he looked back out the window, embarrassed but knowing he'd been caught on his bullshit. A part of him was worried, though, that he really was about to have his ass handed to him with hard work this year. He'd seen how hard some of the other adults had to work, eight hours a day. They cleaned, they cooked, they tended to the garden and the animals, they mowed the lawn, they did it all. The farm owner, Sylvester, of course was involved in the labor too, but he certainly didn't take the brunt of the work. 
The Raider cruised down the rural road past endless sprawling farmland until they approached the right turn, the farm road. The road changed from pavement to gravel immediately, and from gravel to dirt shortly after they passed the rather pleasant pond on the left side. Past the pond on the right side was the barn, and the stables next to it. Nico could see horses from the car window, and he sat up a bit as it all started coming back to him. The place never changed. The first day of summer was the same as the last day of the year before.
The Raider would pull up to a large farmhouse, tall and white but in need of a refreshing new coat of paint. The architecture of the early 1900s, held onto and passed down from parents to children and kept safe in the hands of the offspring. The covered porch had furniture on it for the host and his guest to sit and relax, and they were currently being put to good use. In his wooden rocking chair was the old skunk himself, Sylvester, dressed in his ratty old overalls and sipping from an opaque liquor jug. The old male wore his age honestly, being in his early 60s and showing it in the wrinkles on his body, in the silver of his short sweaty hair, his mustache and the goatee he had. 
Tros would put the car in park and snuff his cigarette in the car's ashtray before tipping his hat up and hopping out, squinting at his older friend and asking "they let polecats live 'round these parts?" as he approached the porch. Nico hopped out next, shutting the door behind him and following behind as the old skunk corked his jug and stood, hands on the small of his back as he stretched.
"Reckon they must if they ain't run y'all foxes out yet" the old skunk would reply, prompting a hearty laugh from Tros as he met his friend at the porch and reached in for one of those aggressive paternal hugs, the chest bump and the hard pat on the back with the one wrapped-around arm. Sylvester would return it happily before his hands went to his overall pockets, his gaze wandering from Tros to the young fox he'd brought along. His eyes wandered down to the boy's feet sticking just out the bottom of baggy jeans, all frayed at the ankles from not rolling them up. They trailed up slowly, to his black band shirt, and finally up to his maturing face, the stubbling of facial hair peppered around his jawline and under his nose, most prominent at his chin.
"And lookie here at this varmint, a whole year older an' still thin as a rake. What're y' feedin' him? Saltines?"
Nico would smile but roll his eyes, looking away as he defended himself with "I been tryin' to work out, Mr. Mouffette. Can'tcha tell at all?"
Sylvester would squint at the boy and look right at him, leaning his upper half forward and pursing up his lips as if he was deeply inspecting him before informing him "I reckon I see a bit'a meat on ya, t'ain't much though. Gotta fix that this summer. Gonna feed y' right and get some muscle on those bones."
Tros would look to Nico and reach a reassuring arm out to pat the kid on the shoulder a few times as he remarked "boy's been tryin' though. Finally gettin' him off his phone more and out in the yard. He's been tryin' to learn how to work on cars with his ol' granddaddy."
"Well, good," Sylvester would nod approvingly, "someone needs t' be teachin' him how to be a man besides me. God knows his damned hard-headed daddy sure won't."
Nico snickered at that, taking a few steps and back to the side as he informed the pair "i'ma go get my stuff out the car and throw it upstairs in my room. Gotta take a leak, too."
As he took a few steps back, though, Tros would throw a pointed finger at him and narrow his eyes a bit as he told him "remember what I told you. It's a NOW LEGAL ass whoopin' if I catch you fuckin' off."
Nico snorted a protesting "alright, alright, i'll be back in like ten minutes tops" as he separated from the pair, grabbing his duffel bag from the Raider and heading into the farmhouse. Sylvester would turn to face Tros now that the pair were alone, his brow crumpling in a confused expression.
"What was that about?" he'd ask. Tros would puff air out his nose and shake his head some, in that paternal way.
"Boy's got his daddy's tendencies sometimes. Lazy, layin' about, whackin' off and takin' naps in the middle'a the damn day. Tryin' to work on that with him, keep him occupied and awake and keep his hands out his goddamn pants."
Sylvester would snicker at that and shrug his shoulders.
"Well, boys'll be boys at that age. God knows we did it too. He got himself a girl?"
Tros would practically laugh out a "noooo" as he shook his head, shifting idly on his feet as he fished his cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lit up another.
"Boy's a fruitcake. He don't look it or sound it, but he don't realize them trailer walls are paper thin."
Sylvester cocked an eyebrow and leaned over the side of his rocking chair, fishing up his jug and uncorking it, tossing back a swig before offering Tros a nip. The old fox would accept it happily, having a bit before returning the jar.
"Well, ain't nothin' wrong with that so long as he ain't gettin' with them yankee types into the drugs and whatnot." the old skunk would say as he looked out to the field.
"I didn't much care for it myself, but what kind'a daddy would I be fussin' about it when I got friends that're queer?" Tros would ask, cutting Sylvester a toothy smile. The skunk sputtered out a laugh as he nodded in agreement, knowing he was the 'queer friend'. The skunk wasn't exactly one that'd label himself anything, but he certainly preferred men himself as well, and Tros had known that for over thirty years. 
"So, he's got a boy I take it? An' you got the pleasure of hearin' em?" Sylvester would ask.
"Nah, he's had boys over every now and then that he'd get to messin' with, thinkin' we couldn't hear it. Was a maned wolf comin' over for a while last year but I stopped seein' him. Ain't had anyone over his whole senior year, and the kid's clearly gettin' feisty 'cause of it." 
"So y' figure puttin' him on a farm full'a sweaty, hard workin' shirtless fellas'll keep his head on straight?" Sylvester would ask, punctuated by a swig of the jug.
"Well, when y' put it that way..." Tros said, just in time for Nico to swing open the screen door and come back, dressed in the same black shirt but having changed into shorts. The fox would stand on the porch edge at the step, looking out into the field before his grandpa would suggest "Nico why'on't you go see the critters in the barn, say hey to 'em?"
"Yeah, good idea. They always remember me!" the fox would say as he hopped down the steps and headed briskly to the barn, leading Tros to turn back to Sylvester as he snatched the jug for another nip himself.
"I don't rightly care if the boy's gettin' his pipes cleaned this summer or not, I just want him outta the house and makin' himself useful. Last thing I want is him to be like his daddy, drunk all the time and layin' on his fat ass until he feels himself startin' to sober up."
The fox had lit up another cigarette at this point, cutting his eyes over to his older friend as he asked "speakin' of, i'm guessin' this summer stay don't have anyone of my persuasion waitin' to take off my boots and rub my back, eh?"
Sylvester would near spit out his swig of shine at that remark, a hand covering his mouth to be polite as he struggled not to cough, near breathing down that liquor before managing to swallow it.
"No," he tried to start as he worked to calm his laughter, "I reckon it's blue balls for you this season, less y' drive 'bout twenty minutes east t' that little honky-tonk and pick y' up one'a them girls with the Dolly Parton wigs. That, or maybe one'a the she-goats or sows. Otherwise, just fellas on this farm."
Tros took a long pull of his cigarette and leaned back his head, exhaling out his nose as he groaned "I'll pass."
---
The next morning came early, far too early. The first week was always the hardest, getting used to those farm hours. Nico heard a knock on the door at 5 AM, the sun having not even started to rise before his door was opened and left cracked. Sylvester knew how these kids worked. You could knock and wake them up, but if you left the door closed they'd just go back to bed. It was so comfortable in bed, though, the fox laying in his boxer briefs with his heavy handmade quilt half off his body. His bedroom was decorated fairly simply. His bed was in the corner, with a desk against a wall beneath a curtained window in the corner opposite the foot of his bed. To his right, across the room, was the bedroom door, and to the left of that was a dresser with his duffel bag sitting unpacked below it. On the back of the door hung a pair of overalls and a button-up shirt, both clearly very old and worn out. They were Sylvester's old clothes, but they made good farm clothes for Nico because the two were similarly skinny and it kept him from getting his clothes ruined doing work.
He'd crawl grumpily out of bed and head for the door, snatching the clothes and sleepily dressing himself, finding work boots with socks tucked in them against the wall in the corner, also Sylvester's old clothes. The skunk would sometimes have a few men staying on the farm helping him out, but Nico was always treated special. Sylvester and Tros had been close friends for decades, and both the old men cared a great deal for Nico, so he always got his own room and the old skunk tried to care for him while he was there. Nico knew this, and it made it feel nice that he was given clothes to wear, even if they were old and musty, still lingering with a faint hint of skunk.
As he tied up his workboots, he'd make his way down the upstairs hallway. To his left was Sylvester's room, across the hall was Tros' room, and to his right was the upstairs bathroom, across from that someone else's bedroom. At the far end of the hall were the stairs, and they creaked as Nico descended them he'd hear noise behind him. The bottom of the stairs lead to the main living area, with a den to the left, but behind him was the kitchen, where he heard noise. He'd turn and head that way, finding the fridge door open with some parts of a much larger male visible on the other side of it, several other men sitting around the kitchen table together. Most of them would turn to face Nico when he approached, greeting him with various "good mornings" as he felt a bit embarrassed suddenly being the center of attention. 
At the far end of the table sat Sylvester, dressed for the day similarly to Nico: a button-up shirt under overalls, work boots. He sat drinking coffee.
The two chairs closest to him were occupied by rather bulky shaggy-haired bull and a slimmer domestic dog of some sort. He had striking, wolfish features to his coat and eyes but his ears were far too long to have been a wolf. His markings were unlike any domestic Nico had seen, though. Beside the dog was a younger looking weasel, perhaps around Nico's age. He had his arms crossed on the table and had his head resting on them, seeming to be especially struggling with waking up this early. Across the table from him was a cantankerous looking wolverine, who'd been chatting with the bull next to him before Nico entered and was the only one to not greet him. Must've been a hardass, Nico thought, and as he approached the table and took one of the two chairs that were placed diagonally at the end of the kitchen table, he chose the one closer to the smaller weasel trying to get a few more minutes of sleep.
Tros was nowhere to be found, but that's because he chose to stay in bed. When he visited for the summer, he did so with the intent of giving Nico something responsible to do. He'd done his responsibilities, though, and mostly just relaxed with Sylvester and chipped in when he felt like it. He'd sometimes help cook or clean up after things like dinner, but largely he lazed around and used the summer to socialize. He'd "done his time", he'd say, and he was allowed to be lazy unlike his son and grandson. He probably wouldn't be up until well after nine.
The large beast behind the fridge would rise--an equine, caramel and white fur patterns. He was built as horses tended to be, muscular and sporting very little fat save for a bit of girth on his belly. He had a tray of eggs and was making his way to the stove, where he began to prepare breakfast.
"So how'd y' sleep, kids?" Sylvester would ask Nico and the weasel specifically, facing them. The weasel would groan and shake his head tiredly as the wolverine across from the table answered for him, replying "probably stayed up too late thinkin' he could handle it."
Nico would scratch his finger along his jawline idly as he told Sylvester "I slept alright. A little sleepy, but I'll be okay."
Breakfast was sizzling on the stove and Nico mostly kept quiet, listening to the conversations the older men were having together as he found things around the room at which to look. His eyelids were heavy. He'd stand up make his way to the counter to pour himself some coffee, and as he walked past him he noticed the wolverine turned his head to look at the fox, watching as he walked. Nico was hardly dressed inappropriately, in fact he was dressed rather conservative to the way he normally presented, those old overalls doing a good job of concealing just how thin the boy really was. Still, the wolverine made it rather obvious he was staring at him, and the fox wondered if it was instead something more negative. He did seem rather irritable, and the fox began to wonder if maybe he was upset to see such lazy teenagers working on the farm with him.
Nico poured his cup, though, loaded with sugar and topped with milk, and returned to his seat where he'd begin trying to sip as quickly as possible in an attempt to join the waking world. Sylvester had shifted conversation to talking about plans for today, and who was going to do what. Several of the men volunteered for work right away, but Nico and the weasel sat quietly as they waited to be told what to do. Nico knew what he preferred, which was grooming and feeding the animals, but the wolverine had already volunteered to do that first thing. 
"Guthrie," Sylvester spoke, turning to face the wolverine who seemed to respond to that name, "take Nico to the barn and let him help with the animals. He's good at that."
While the wolverine groaned about it, Sylvester carried on talking, allowing Nico to learn the names of everyone else at the table. The weasel next to him was Holden. The dog with the strange coat was Rawlins. The bull across the table from him was Knox. The horse making breakfast was Camden. Nico tried his best to memorize those as quickly as possible, because breakfast was now being served to them and work was coming next.
---
"So yer granddaddy brings you out here every year?" Guthrie asked Nico as he was working to help clean the barn. The doors had been open for the critters to step out and graze, which most had happily accepted. Sylvester kept goats, chickens, and pigs in his barn, and horses in the nearby stable. The pair had already fed the animals for the morning, and were mostly just tidying up afterward, the sun just starting to rise.
"Yeah. Been doin' this since i was like ten." Nico would reply, leaning over his pitchfork and scooping. He was already breaking a sweat, seeing as this was his first day of work since the end of last summer, and Guthrie was right there along with him. Being a wolverine, he was naturally stockier, bulkier built but definitely on a heavier side. He'd unbuttoned several of the buttons in his shirt and let his thick pelt bush out the front of it, and Nico had found himself slowing his progress to look quite a few times. 
"S'good for you. Glad y' got a granddaddy that takes care of you. Boys nowadays don't know nothin' bout work. Took you as one'a them too. Hopin' this summer'll break Holden'a that attitude himself."
"He's your son, I take it?" Nico would ask, wiping his forehead as he started to lay down fresh hay. 
"Nephew. Ain't got no kids myself." Guthrie replied. 
Nico gave a short "ah" in response as the two continued working together, Nico's eyes continuing to wander back to the wolverine and his open shirt, his bushy body hair. He was glinted with sweat already, and they'd been at it for less than hour. Guthrie was noticing the staring, too, and kept returning the glances only to have Nico dart his eyes away every time they almost made direct contact.
"Whas's'matter kid? Got somethin' on my face?" Guthrie would ask, stopping his work to turn to face Nico, leaning on his pitchfork and casting a curious gaze his way. The fox couldn't bring himself to make eye contact, far too nervous he was about to get in trouble. It showed in how he increased the pace of his own work, murmuring a "no sir" as he felt the crushing awareness that Guthrie was still standing there, looking directly at him.
"I know you're lookin' at me, don't be coy kid." Guthrie would say, causing the fox's body to suddenly jolt in surprise, a defensive "no sir" flying from his mouth as he found himself working in a direction that had him distancing himself from the wolverine.
"Cut the 'no sir' shit, fox. Y' wanna look? Then look." the wolverine would say, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and letting it hang open, the tail tucked into his work pants as his belly relaxed, free of the tense fabric. He was stocky, and he had quite a bit of musclegut to him with a generously thick fur on his torso that looked damp with sweat, some of the tufts matted together. Some men got coats like this as they aged. They wouldn't get as much coarse body hair, rather the already existing fur would grow longer and denser in the hot spots, leaving them with nice bushy pelts on their chest and thick tufts under their arms and between their legs. Nico did indeed stop what he was doing and look, admiring it. It looked so soft and warm, like it would be so nice to run through his fingers.
"S'real handsome" Nico would admit, and Guthrie would slowly relax his shoulders as one hand went to his hips, his head giving a slight nod downward as he told the fox "come touch it then."
Nico cut back a nervous "what?!" as Guthrie raised his voice some, commanding the fox "come touch it. Ain't no one gonna bother us, they're all busy. Come touch it."
The fox would move tentatively, leaning his pitchfork against the wall before approaching Guthrie and putting a hand on his chest, pressing down as it sank into several inches of thick fur between his pecs. The fox ran his fingers up for a few seconds before pulling away, nervously answering "yeah, s'nice."
Truth was, it was more than nice. It was hot, really hot. The fox could feel that life had stirred between his legs and had him tenting a bit in the front of his overalls. He was still nervous, though, and Guthrie wasn't giving off any sort of welcoming energy despite standing there demanding the fox proceed. He felt like, any minute, the mood was going to change and the angry looking wolverine was going to snap at him for having oggled him the whole time they worked.
On the contrary, as Nico pulled back, Guthrie would drop his pitchfork and grab the fox by the hands, pulling both his hands to press against the meat of his pecs under that thick fur, forcing them to move in circles as he said "quit bein' a fairy about it. Touch it. Feel around. Y' wanna look, you gotta be ready to follow through if someone catches you."
Nico was incredibly hot in the face, and as he groped around amidst all that thick, sweaty fur he could feel the defined muscle under it. This man clearly worked quite a bit, his pecs were thick, solid, pleasant to grope on as the fox found nipples and pressed his palms against them. Guthrie would close his eyes and let loose an uncontainable grunt as he felt them palmed. The wolverine had a smell to him, a slight musk, not particularly strong just yet. He must've showered the night before, and had only just started building a musk as he'd been working this morning. Nico gave a whispered "wow" as he groped on him, his hands squeezing on pecs as his eyes looked down to see that he'd not only tented his overalls with his now fully erect dick, but that there was a lump in the front of Guthrie's pants throbbing too. Not erect yet, not tented, but definitely swelling. Guthrie was watching Nico's eyes wander, though, and was looking right at his downturned head as the fox gazed down between his legs.
"I see y' lookin'. Y' ever sucked dick before?" Guthrie would ask. Nico's hands abruptly gripped and he looked up with a startled, slack-jawed expression as he stammered "wh-wh--"
"What? Just askin'." Guthrie asked.
"A...few times. Not a lot, though." the fox would admit, Guthrie's tongue subtly running across his teeth inside his mouth.
"Get down there and get some practice in, then" the wolverine would say, taking the fox by his hands and pushing them down from his pecs to his belly.
"Are you...sure? I wouldn't'a guessed you were into guys" Nico said as his eyes wandered from Guthrie's crotch up to his eyes, then back down. The fox's youthful hands wandered down past the belly, though, both palms handling the bulge in the front of the wolverine's pants, causing him to exhale a low "aaattaboy" as he closed his eyes, leaned back his head.
"I ain't into guys, but I also ain't gonna turn down a fruit that wants t' get me off. Jus' had to make sure you weren't wantin' play with my ass," he chuckled, "THAT wouldn't fly at all."
The fox hadn't said anything else, instead focusing on what was before him. He sank to his knees and nosed at the bulge in the wolverine's work pants, heavy and beginning to stain a spot in the front with arousal. The fox's hands unbuckled belt and parted zipper, leaving him face to face with worn white briefs barely able to contain the package inside. Still, Nico pressed on, not wanting to indulge himself too much in the slowness of sniffing and admiring. He still had a lingering fear in the back of his head that they were going to be caught at any point, and it lead him to pushing on rather quickly.
"Y' remind me of Holden" Guthrie would say abruptly as his hands, which had been idle at his side, found the top of the fox's head to hold and pet back through his hair as Nico was taken aback with the size of the dick beneath the briefs he'd just peeled downward below the thick sack the wolverine sported.
"Small, antsy. Feel like he's fruity too." Guthrie would remark casually as the fox's hands slowly took his cock into their palms. It was anthro, thankfully, and well more than wrist-thick, and hardening quickly. Nico didn't mind more feralistic dicks, he'd sucked a canine before, but he knew from biology class that mustelids could have some...strange shapes to them. Guthrie's was not only anthro, simply shaped, but it was fairly short, only about five inches, but remarkably girthy. His bushy body fur tufted out at the base with little coarse body hair except in a small peppering around the base of his cock and on his balls, which had a downy bit of shorter fur amidst them but still were more skin than most of the rest of his body. 
"Go on, kid, ain't gonna bite'cha." Guthrie said, and Nico obeyed. He opened his maw and eased down slowly, inching it into his mouth and finding that his jaw had to open wider to take the girth, though he was able to do so without dragging his teeth against it. It took no effort from his throat to ease it down to a hilt, but his jaw felt stretched wide and was certainly going to be sore from this. Still, he looked up at Guthrie for approval, and the wolverine had a squinted-eyed smile across his face. He still had a somewhat fresh smell to his cock, the lingering smell of the fragrances from last night's shower amidst the slight musk from the morning's work. Nico sniffed it slowly as he felt the meaty, fat-fingered hands of this wolverine push him down as far as he could go onto his dick. 
Nico could feel that Guthrie had a pretty good hold on his head now, though, and he would relax the best he could. It was obvious this guy was going to want to take the reigns, and no sooner had he thought that then he'd feel the wolverine lifting his head off his cock and pushing it back down, blowing air out his mouth as he cussed a quiet "ffffuck yeah..." as he hilted in the fox's mouth, quick to pull him off and push him down again. Nico relaxed, comfortable knowing even if Guthrie got a bit forceful with it that it wasn't going to risk gagging him. It also allowed him to be hands free to jerk himself off, but sure as he started to sink his hands down between his legs the wolverine would order him "no no, play with my balls. Roll 'em around, don't cum 'fore I do."
The fox's brow furrowed a bit, but he accepted. His hands rose to fondle on those heavy, fat orbs squeezed out in front of those thick thighs, pausing only for a moment to thumb the back of Guthrie's pants and push them down around his knees along with his underwear. Then, returning to his balls, Nico would take his time slowly fondling them, squeezing them as he felt Guthrie's cock throb in his mouth, the wolverine whispering "always heard the queer types took cock better'n women but i ain't believe it before now...goddamn kid..."
It went on for several minutes, Guthrie having picked up the pace and was fucking the fox's face rather aggressively now, not only pulling down his head but thrusting his thick hips forward as well, resulting the fox's nose getting squished into fat crotch meat and bushy, sweaty fur. Nico's nose would get scrunched upward, his front teeth pressing into the fur as his eyes shut. This not only resulted in a rather snorty bit of noise from Nico, but his maw squishing and squelching stuffed full of girthy wolverine dick, drooling precum and growing saltier by the minute. Nico could tell from the handful of blowjobs he'd given: Guthrie was about to cum.
Nico was proven correct in this as, not even a minute later, the wolverine's huffing and puffing shifted to audible "ugh"s and "ahh"s, the veins in his cock swelling and his dick suddenly growing more tense.
"Y' gonna swallow it? Gonna take it all?? I cum a fuckin' lot, kid, I--god--goddamn dude s'feels so good--" the wolverine trailed off in erotic, moaning talk as Nico knew it was coming. He didn't have to answer, but he would give a nasally "mhm!" in reply to every time Guthrie's lustdrunk talking asked him a question. Then it came. The wolverine's fat fingers squeezed the sides of his head and pushed him down hard, prying open his jaw to almost a 90-degree around cock and crotch fat as the shaft in his maw throbbed, shooting a fat load of seed down the fox's throat, followed by another. Guthrie would pull the kid off his cock and paint a stripe of seed on his tongue during the pullout before fucking his head down to a hilt again, loud drawly moans of delight as he fed most of that load past the tongue down the young man's throat, causing Nico to gag a few times but manage to keep it down.
Guthrie would thrust a few more times, weakening in intensity as he grumbled "f-fuckin'...fuckin' hell kid that's a mouth y' got on ya alright..." before he would pull back his dick from the fox, letting Nico lean back and relax, catch his breath. The wolverine wagged his cock a few times to flick off spit and leftover seed before he'd pull up his pants and tuck it away, tucking his shirt back in and straightening himself up as he cleared his throat in a gruff, paternal way.
"Well. Not bad. Guess I had y' pinned all wrong. Hard workin' and respectful to your elders. Thanks, fox."
"No problem, sir. Y' mind if I--" the fox said, beginning to unzip the front of his overalls as Guthrie cut him off with "oohhh no, no not right now. Gotta get back t' work. Crank it later, sport."
The fox grumbled, zipping back up, and stood up to find his pitchfork, walking bow-legged with a tent in his pants as he got back to work, Guthrie trying to clear the weird tension in the air with "so, uh, y' watch much sports?"
This was gonna be a long morning.
---